


The Person Who Hurts You The Most Is Yourself

by Aaron_The_8th_Demon



Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Alcohol Withdrawal Syndrome, Autistic Cooper, Companion Piece, Cooper's psychic powers really come up to bite him in the ass, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:54:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24730381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaron_The_8th_Demon/pseuds/Aaron_The_8th_Demon
Summary: The pouring out of whiskey bottles and the discovery of unpleasant truths.
Relationships: Dale Cooper/Harry Truman
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	The Person Who Hurts You The Most Is Yourself

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short companion fic to [No Reason To Hide From Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23909767), taking place mostly concurrently with the end section of [chapter 14](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23909767/chapters/58120297). If you haven't read that fic, this one will probably be jarring for you and not necessarily make that much sense.

Dale is one hundred percent not proud of himself for going over the speed limit on his drive to Harry’s house, but he’s not completely sure how restricted his time is to accomplish this task and so feels the need to hurry. When he departed the hospital, Harry was still sleeping in a slightly less sweat-covered and feverish manner than before, and Dale knows that Doc Hayward is interested in speaking to Harry without him present to interfere, so this is the best window of opportunity that he’ll have.

The driveway. The majority of the citizens in Twin Peaks, so he’s heard, abstain from locking the doors to their homes. Everyone knows and trusts each other for the most part. Harry, in his (generally reasonable) fear of being hate-crimed, has recently become an exception to this rule. Every window and exterior door to his house is closed and locked and then checked several times if he won’t be present. This leaves Dale to search for the spare key - he frowns to himself and closes his eyes, thinking very hard about the most likely place for it to be located, and then finds it ten seconds later on a magnet that’s been glued to the underside of one of the steps.

Dale removes his shoes on entering. He’s aware from secondhand experience (and advice from Albert) that it’s unusual for alcoholics to stash all of their liquor in a single location, and reasons there will likely be several bottles of whiskey for him to track down and destroy. Dale feels mentally… where will these objects hide?

The first one is in an obvious spot, one Dale’s already aware of because he’s seen Harry going to it in person. A kitchen cabinet over the stove. Dale pulls it down and sets it on the counter, then thoroughly checks the cabinet and discovers a second one, unopened, tucked away at the back. Following this discovery, he sweeps all the cupboards, finding a mostly-empty unit stuffed in the space under the sink behind some cleaning chemicals which is so sticky with dust and cobwebs that Harry must’ve somehow completely lost track of it months ago.

There are none to be found following the most thorough inspection of the bedroom and the bathroom, although there is one which is partially full that Dale surmises was accidentally kicked under the couch and Harry was unable to locate it. Dale acquires Harry’s keys from the landing tray on the kitchen counter and goes outside to rummage the truck next. He’s relieved to discover nothing there - at least Harry is aware enough not to drink while driving. He returns to the house and pours all of it down the sink, then takes out the trash so that even the empty bottles can’t present a temptation and places a fresh liner in the can.

Dale leaves, being sure to lock the door behind him, and heads for the station at again a higher-than-legal speed. Fortunately, at the moment, only Hawk is here. Even Lucy is out on her lunch hour.

“Hawk, are we aware of any alcohol stashes in Harry’s office?”

“Yeah, there’s at least one bottle in his desk and I think he keeps a couple hidden in his gun cabinets.”

“Thank you. He’s likely being discharged tomorrow and I must get this resolved before that happens.”

Dale unlocks Harry’s office and the two of them search together. Fortunately Hawk has his own set of keys, and checks the gun cabinets while Dale frisks the desk drawers. A bottle and a half in the desk, two full bottles in the gun cabinet, another one hiding in the accordion-door closet beside it. Harry has more liquor in his office than he had in his house. All of this is immediately poured out and then Hawk runs the sink to help get rid of the smell from the coffee nook.

“How’s he doing?” Hawk asks.

“He’s through the worst of it… finally,” Dale says. “This was an absolutely horrifying process to watch. I can only imagine how terrible it’s been for him to suffer through it himself.”

“You did the right thing bringing him to Doc Hayward,” Hawk comments, slapping his upper arm briefly. “I don’t know how much longer he could’ve kept going like that.”

“Yes, I know,” he nods. “Hawk, I’m not sure if you’ll be able to answer this, but he begged me repeatedly not to allow his parents to visit him there. Granted, he wasn’t even approaching his right mind at the time, but it was a deep concern of his. Why is this the case?”

Hawk sighs a little. “His dad yelled at him a lot. Sometimes he threw things at him, too. I’m not sure if Frederick ever actually beat him for being gay, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he did. I know eventually Frank smashed a bottle over their dad’s head, and after that he stopped being so mean to Harry because Frank was big enough to protect him by then. And Coop, you didn’t hear any of this from me.”

“No, of course not,” Dale mumbles. “Thank you, Hawk.”

He finally makes a trip to the Double R and spends almost six dollars buying a heap of chocolate bars, then returns to the hospital. Harry is sitting up on the side of his bed, drinking water from a disposable paper cup; when it’s empty, he crushes it and tosses it away in vaguely the direction of the garbage bin.

“You seem to be feeling better,” Dale observes.

“Yeah, a little. Will said you brought me more candy bars.” Harry huffs an almost-laugh. “I don’t even like chocolate.”

“I have an entire pile of them for you.” Dale produces them from his cargo pocket and stacks them on the rolling bedside table. He then also sits on the bed and slides his hand into Harry’s, folding their fingers together. “You were very concerned about your family coming to see you.”

“Yeah,” Harry grumbles. “They can’t, though. Only Frank would be able to and I know he’s not gonna, it’s a twelve-hour drive and he has work to do.”

Dale takes a breath. “Some of the things you said during your state of delirium had frightening implications.”

“It’s not a big deal. It shouldn’t bother me anymore, it was a long time ago and my dad’s _dead._ I don’t really have any reason to dwell on it.”

“But Harry, it hurts you.” Dale clamps his jaw tightly shut for a moment to stop it from quivering and swallows to steady his voice. “At some point you’ll have to process and confront whatever it is that happened to make you so afraid of your own parents.”

“Sometimes…” Harry pauses. “I don’t know. He got mad if I did bad in football games.”

“Did he hit you?” Dale whispers.

Harry doesn’t say anything for awhile. Finally: “My dad was a drunk. He yelled a lot and threw stuff. Uh. He got shot and was sent home in 1944, and there was nerve pain in his arm. My mother said one time that it’s why he started drinking, because it hurt so bad. And then he just kept doing it. He never beat her, though. Mostly they just argued with each other. He didn’t beat his wife.”

“But did he beat his children?”

“He liked Frank better than he liked me. He threw stuff at me sometimes and he yelled a lot. I got slapped by my mom a couple times for mouthing off to her, but I earned those.”

Dale does not fail to notice the fact that Harry is just slightly trembling, and it has nothing to do with the lingering withdrawal symptoms. Dale can almost hear everything that he’s refusing to say… his father, on more than one occasion, cornered him and gave him a thrashing. It’s very specific. Dale feels the strong and distinct impression of a thick, brown leather belt, the memory of which is no longer drowned out by whiskey. Welts and bruises and _pain._ So much hurt. And if Harry ever gave in, to beg for forgiveness or - god forbid - mercy, it would only go on longer.

Dale intends to say something to the effect of “Harry I’m so sorry,” but the second he opens his mouth to do so he bursts into tears instead. It’s the worst, horrible wracking sobs that have him pitched forward with his arms around himself. But almost immediately Harry’s arms are there as well, wrapping him up securely to be held tightly and rocked. Harry murmurs in his ear that everything is fine as if _he’s_ the one suffering, and he can only cry harder in response to that. It reaches a point where the heaving motions of his chest almost make him sick, and his nose is running and he’s drooling and gun to his head Dale does not remember the last time he felt so _awful_ about something.

Ultimately Dale only stops because continuing labors his breathing so much as to put him in an unbearable state of discomfort. Harry strokes down his hair and rubs his back, and it doesn’t in any way alleviate the anguish he feels but it’s still nice.

“Coop, what’s wrong?”

Dale shakes his head. “Why are you convinced that it doesn’t matter, Harry?” he wavers instead of answering. “Why do you believe your pain is so insignificant?”

“…I don’t know.”

Harry reaches up with a corner of the thin hospital blanket and wipes his face dry for him. Dale shivers with aftershocks and allows this to happen without protest.

“It’s unacceptable to me that you’re so comfortable with feeling so unloved,” he comments, still in a shaking and pathetic voice.

“But I’m not anymore,” Harry murmurs, curling them together slightly more than they already were. “I’ve got you, now.”

More tears well up, but Dale smiles through them. “Yes, of course you do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah okay I almost _cried_ when I wrote this... so naturally I showed it to a friend and made him cry instead, and then I was fine :D
> 
> In explanation of the title of this fic, Harry's dad beating him obviously caused the initial trauma but Harry is continuing to make it worse for himself by refusing to acknowledge the fact that it hurts him. Being in denial just leaves those wounds to fester instead of clear up and heal.
> 
> All my Twin Peaks fics can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=127943&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Aaron_The_8th_Demon).
> 
> Comments are welcomed and encouraged :)


End file.
